


this mortal love

by orphan_account



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant, Drunken Kissing, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Seventh Heaven (Compilation of FFVII)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After a long day, Cloud drowns his sorrows in alcohol. Barret finds him by chance. One thing eventually (always) leads to another.
Relationships: Cloud Strife/Barret Wallace
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	this mortal love

**Author's Note:**

> in a delirious state at 11:06 pm i remembered [this](https://twitter.com/theyoungdoyler/status/1261113396944146433?s=20) cloud/barret fanart and knew i had to write something based off it so here is my contribution to this fandom

The Seventh Heaven is mostly quiet, save for the lone dog that howls once or twice outside the bar’s doors before eventually giving up and heading to sleep. It’s a slow day— a privilege in itself. There’s not much to be done around the slums, with most of the chores for the week already completed thanks to Tifa’s gentle chidings and Jessie’s incessant pleas that they finish early so that she may visit her mother before it gets too late. Cloud can only roll his eyes at this, but the action isn’t much a reaction than it is a reflex.

There’s something off about the day, however. Is it the way that a black haze now covers the darkening sky, or the way that the bar counter refuses to rid of the ugly stain that has since seeped into the hardwood? Whatever it is, it leaves a bad taste on the tip of Cloud’s tongue. When he downs the dirty liquid that Tifa has slid over to his side of the counter, he grimaces in disgust and shame. There’s no real reason to be drinking, but here he is nevertheless.

The clock near the back of the room ticks quietly. Cloud subconsciously counts the beat with his fingertips, tapping against the grain of the wood. One. Two. Three. The numbers all begin to sound the same in his head and he loses place sometime around the twentieth tick. Perhaps the alcohol is getting to his head. Perhaps he truly has gone mad.

By the time Tifa leaves the bar, Cloud cannot give a straight answer as to how long he has been there. He had forgotten the exact time hours ago, at least, what felt like hours ago. An array of shot glasses and whisky tumblers litter the countertop, and although Tifa says she’ll clean it up when she comes back in the next afternoon, Cloud somehow doubts that she won’t mind the extra work. It makes him feel like shit. What a mess this all is.

With one half-hearted swig of an almost-empty glass, Cloud falls into a state of delirium and self-pity. It isn’t often he acts like this; he repeats this reasoning to himself like a mantra. Still, being left alone with one’s own thoughts can make even the most confident individual uncomfortable. It is a truth Cloud knows all too well.

By the time Barret takes a seat only inches away from Cloud, the blond man is hunched over the bar counter, clutching onto any dignity he has left in a vain attempt to seem more sober than he really is. Of course, it is painfully evident that Cloud can barely manage a simple retort when Barret chuckles at the other man’s misfortune.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Cloud’s words are only slightly slurred, not noticeable enough so that Barret doesn’t really bat an eye at the statement. Cloud lifts a finger as if to gesture to something, but eventually lets it fall limply back onto the table when he can’t seem to procure the right words.

“Could say the same to you. Don’t push it.” Barret’s voice is rough, but there’s somewhat of a gentler tone to it. It isn’t how he normally speaks and Cloud can tell.

Cloud shrugs. There’s something about those words that make his stomach twist with an excess of unspoken feelings. Cloud doesn’t want to— doesn’t _need_ to face those feelings right now. Instead, his grip on the glass in his right hand tightens. His heartstrings pull harshly. His upper teeth bite down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. Cloud laughs.

The room is filled with silence for the next few minutes. At one point, Barret crosses over to the other side of the bar, already familiar with the placement of bottles and trinkets that Tifa has meticulously made sure to keep organised. Cloud cannot remember how, but Barret ends up with a drink of his own. Cloud wishes that he were just a slight bit more sober, but his self-restraint has never been that good.

The night feels long. The clock’s ticks become almost annoying when Cloud begins to realise that it is just him and Barret in the room. The sound of the minute hand fills the empty space, making the silence even more apparent than it had been before. The night feels long. Cloud doesn’t think he can bear the deafening silence any longer if him and Barret continue on like this.

It ends up being Cloud who makes the first move.

His mouth curves into a slight frown when he reaches across the counter and grasps Barret’s sunglasses. They’re heavier than he expects, so Cloud’s grip unexpectedly tightens.

The moment they’re off, Cloud cannot help but pause for a moment’s time. It is a rare sight to see Barret in such a raw state, although it is merely the simple action of taking off an accessory. There are no words in the dictionary to describe Barret’s gaze. It reeks of purity and sin. They’re angel eyes.

Once more, Cloud parts his lips as if he is to say something. Barret seems to wait in anticipation, raising an eyebrow when Cloud eventually purses his lips and decides against it. This action doesn’t please Barret in the slightest. His eyes narrow. His gaze drips with deadly poison.

Cloud sucks in a sharp intake of breath when Barret clasps his wrist. His grasp is firm and strong, yet Cloud is able to break free if needed. The man’s gaze is still intently focused on Cloud’s lips. As if he is expecting something, Cloud subconsciously tils his chin up. The alcohol that stains his breath does not help the situation in the slightest, but it doesn’t seem that Barret can tell (or mind).

Barret’s touch moves its way up to Cloud’s palm. The sudden movement elicits a slight shiver down Cloud’s back, a surprise that causes him to lose grip of the sunglasses. The glasses drop onto the counter with a dull click. Neither of them care. The glasses are not the focus anymore.

For a second, time stands still. The clock’s ticking is nonexistent and the night no longer moves. Cloud and Barret stare at each other. Cloud swears he feels a whine building in the back of his throat, but he pushes it down and swallows it before it can develop into something _more_. This attempt is all for nothing, however, when Barret presses harshly into the middle of Cloud’s hand and runs a thumb along the heart line of his palm. Cloud lets out a pitiable excuse of a cry from his lips.

Barret pays no attention to this and moves Cloud’s hand to his mouth. He presses a soft kiss against the worn leather of Cloud’s gloves. Cloud can feel the man’s heat as he does so and squirms a bit in his seat. God, there cannot be a more uncomfortable feeling than this. Cloud cannot understand his own feelings. He’s conflicted.

In a state of irrationality, Barrets ends up kissing each one of Cloud’s fingers, pulling away to beads of saliva that trail down his chin when he finds himself getting lost in his own feelings. Cloud is out of breath, one hand gripping with restraint onto the barstool seat.

No words need to be uttered when the two have finally regained some semblance of consciousness. They simply look away from each other, cheeks flushed red from the mixture of alcohol and embarrassment. Time passes. No one says anything. Finally, Cloud looks back and sees that Barret has yet to move his sunglasses. He looks at Cloud fondly. Longingly.

The two men move closer, as if to finally embrace and share one forbidden kiss.

Yet, that moment never happens.

Barret’s hand silently moves to grab his sunglasses, putting them on as soon as they’ve made their way into his hands. Cloud cannot hide his disappointment, but Barret doesn’t seem to notice (or care).

“Sober up soon. We have shit to get done in the morning.” Barret’s voice is rough and this time, there’s the signature edge that overtakes his tone. Cloud cannot help but curl his fingers in disgust. Of course. There was always something to do once the morning came.

**Author's Note:**

> definitely feeling like my writing has regressed recently LMAO oh well
> 
> as always, comments are very appreciated <3


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